“To me?” Fiona
gasps, “What has any of this to do with me?”
“Why my dear girl, it
has everything to do with you,” he says, tapping his nose. “Which
of these gentlemen has the right to sell it? The decision is yours,
and yours alone.”
“Sell what?” she
demands, frustration bubbling into anger. “I don't know what
you're talking about.”
“The bow of Artemis,
of course,” the Author replies condescendingly. “Plundered from
a burning Temple by the conquering Eurymedes, paid for with a life
time of blood and toil. Or liberated from being mere spoils of war
by the brave and loyal Lypaxus. It is you who must decide who
rightfully owns it.”
“Hang on,” she
says, “How can it be both? Either it was plundered, or it was
saved, but surely it can't be both?”
